The Bridesmaid and The Groom
by AquaFontem
Summary: Molly Hooper is travelling to her grandparents' estate for the wedding of her cousin, Jasmine. When she meets Sherlock Holmes on the train, she experiences an instant attraction, but is sure that she will never see him again. So when he turns up most unexpectedly, she will have to navigate her own feelings for him while he prepares to join with another. Victorian AU.
1. Chapter One

The steam curled around Molly Hooper as she rushed across the platform, her gloved hands gripping her suitcase firmly while she maneouvred herself through the crowd.

She was very late, and the time printed onto her ticket glared at her judgementally as she lifted her skirts higher, throwing propriety to the wind in favour of catching her train.

She was quite breathless when the locomotive finally emerged out of the gloom before her, stretching out of the confines of the station into the dense fog that was suffocating London, so much so that the tender and cab was barely visible.

The ticket inspector waved to the driver to hold the train when he saw her hurrying towards him, her ticket thrust in front of her as she tried to restrain herself from running.

'London to Derby?' He took her ticket from her when she nodded, unable to speak as she caught her breath, attempting to gulp down air as delicately as possible. The man barely looked at the paper in his hands before he opened the nearest compartment, helping her into it and closing the door just as the train began to lurch away.

'Thank you so much,' Molly breathed out, taking back her ticket through the open window.

In her haste, she hadn't noticed that she was not alone in the compartment, but when she turned she found a man was sat reading his paper, clearly oblivious to her hurried entrance. She was rather glad of this, as she was sure that she looked rather disheveled, the wisps of hair falling out of the bun at the back of her head tickling the skin of her neck.

The stranger was probably the most handsome man she had ever seen, and he wasn't even looking at her. From the side, she could see his defined cheekbones and jaw line, the gentle shadows caused by both giving his face fascinating depth. She could just see the hint of full lips and a prominent Cupid's bow, and his mouth twitched as his eyes scanned the page in front of him. He had a mop of black curls atop his head, and he inhabited a leanness of physique that Molly preferred to burlier men, whose strength always seemed annoyingly indiscreet.

'Good day,' she said pleasantly, but he disappointingly ignored her, so she focused instead on trying to lift her case onto the luggage rack above her. She cursed her small stature first and her overindulgent packing second as she struggled, trying to keep herself upright as the train moved.

'Were you never taught the importance of punctuality, or do you enjoy making other people wait for you?' The man spoke for the first time, his deep baritone making her skin tingle before she realised what he had said. She set her bag onto the seat, and whirled around to face him, even though his position was eerily unchanged.

'Pardon?' She said, her voice trembling. The stranger sighed, as if he was speaking to a petulant child.

'I said: were you never-' The man halted in his speech when he lifted his gaze to glare at her, and Molly automatically drew in a sharp breath at the moment when their eyes met. 'Excuse me,' he said instantly, but Molly was too angry to pay him any heed.

'How dare you,' she hissed, impressed by the way she managed not to stutter. Her initial attraction towards the man hadn't exactly vanished, but it was thankfully overwhelmed by her rage. 'I could have you thrown from the train for speaking to me in such a manner.'

'You wouldn't dream of it, Miss Hooper,' he replied, and she hated the fact that this was probably true.

'How do you know my name?'

'It's written on the label of your suitcase,' he said quietly, and she couldn't resist checking. Sure enough, 'Miss M. Hooper' was written in her illegible script, which other physicians had criticised her for at the beginning of her career after finding not enough wrong with her.

'Well, I was unavoidably detained. I am usually very punctual.' The man's raised eyebrow made her want to rip his curly hair from his head, and she barely restrained herself. 'Regardless, I was only a minute late, so I doubt I've disturbed the train's schedule too terribly. I'll thank you to leave me alone now please.'

She resumed wrestling with her bag, muttering inaudibly under her breath. She considered going to another compartment, but she was not about to allow him to drive her out. If he was so offended by her apparent lack of manners then he should be the one to go, because she was staying put.

Molly sighed; ready to give up trying to position her case, when two hands appeared to grip either side of the suitcase. They lifted it easily out of her grasp and onto the rack so quickly that Molly barely registered what was happening, turning slowly to face the person who had come to her aid.

The handsome, rude stranger grinned down at her, and she noticed first that he was considerably taller than she. His eyes sparkled while she tried to recover her voice, and she saw that they changed colour with every passing moment.

'I could have managed without you,' she said eventually, taken aback by her own insolence, but unable to feel truly remorseful.

'I beg to differ, Miss Hooper,' he replied, and Molly wondered whether she should ask him to use her proper title, even though she'd never observed it before. 'I must admit that I am not well versed in the conventions of social etiquette,' she suppressed a snort with difficulty, 'but I believe this is where you thank me.'

'You are quite correct,' she said cordially, but she shut her mouth firmly and sat down. He chuckled (she ignored the effect it had on her) and went back to his seat.

They sat in silence for a while, Molly wistfully gazing up at her case once she realised that the medical journal that she had brought with her for the journey was inconveniently secreted inside it. She couldn't think of asking the man for his assistance, and she was not about to grapple for it herself, so she resigned herself to the boredom of staring out of the window until reading material could be sourced at the next stop.

'Miss Hooper,' she wondered whatever he could want now, and was rather taken aback when she found that he was offering her his paper.

'No, thank you,' she said through gritted teeth, but the bothersome man was undeterred.

'I am quite finished with it,' he said, but he seemed to sense her hostility because he leaned forward. 'It appears that we got off on the wrong foot, Miss Hooper,' she met his eyes warily, 'and I must apologise for the role I played in that.' Molly narrowed her eyes at him, not entirely convinced that his repentance was genuine. Still, she was nothing if not forgiving, so she nodded her acceptance.

'That's quite alright, Mr…?'

'Holmes,' he supplied, 'Sherlock Holmes.' He was smiling now, and Molly noted that it made him look younger. 'And please, accept this,' he handed the paper to her, and this time she took it from him.

'Are you sure that you are finished with it?'

'Yes, yes. I have found a much more interesting occupation,' he assured her, and she murmured her thanks, even though she had a sneaking suspicion that his 'occupation' involved fixing his eyes solely on her.

**xxxxxx**

Molly was done with the paper in under half an hour, only really interested in the report about the murder of the woman that had occurred last week, which the paper had claimed was solved by a third party working with the police. Molly had seen the same addendum in nearly all the reports of serious crimes over the past few months, and she wondered who this mysterious detective was, and why the police couldn't seem to solve anything without him.

Mr Holmes was now staring out the window, in a deep contemplative state if the tented hands under his chin were anything to go by. Molly used this distraction to study him, still deeply confused about whether she liked or loathed the man.

He was undeniably attractive, and Molly would be lying if she said that she hadn't been drawn to him from the first moment she saw him. However, her impression of him still hadn't fully recovered from his earlier rudeness, no matter how gentlemanly he had appeared when he helped her with her bag and offered her his paper.

Still, she supposed it didn't really matter what she thought of him, resolved as she was to remain a spinster in favour of keeping her career. She had nothing against the idea of marriage, but her current mood made her sure it was not something to aspire to, guilty as it was for the inconvenient journey she was making.

Her cousin, Jasmine, was getting married at her grandparents' house in Derbyshire, and as a bridesmaid, Molly was under an obligation to go.

The groom's family and her grandfather had arranged the match, which, although this wasn't something Molly necessarily frowned upon, wasn't a circumstance she would wish for herself.

The wedding also meant spending time with Jasmine, whose unfortunate vanity and self-absorption was enough to put anyone off the idea of marriage forever.

Molly sighed, unaware that she had done so audibly until she realised that Mr Holmes had diverted his attention to her.

'Is something the matter, Miss Hooper?' She shook her head.

'I'm perfectly well, thank you.' Molly decided that changing the subject would probably be best. 'I wonder if you know how much longer the journey will be?'

'A good few hours yet, Miss Hooper,' she nodded, 'but, forgive me, I don't believe you're all that eager to arrive at our destination just yet.' She slumped, recalling the letter she had received from Jasmine the week before, which had detailed why Molly's pale complexion made picking bridesmaids dresses so difficult in an almost accusatory tone.

'May I ask how you worked that out, Mr Holmes?' She asked him, wondering vaguely if he'd read it on the label of her suitcase.

'Your posture relaxes every time we momentarily halt, and your brow furrows every time we start to move again. Clearly you are dreading whatever it is that has forced you away from London,' he finished, and she was simultaneously shocked and flattered that he had bothered to observe her.

'You are quite right, Mr Holmes.' She looked at him thoughtfully. 'I wonder what else you can work out about me,' it wasn't really a challenge, but he took it anyway, deducing her as he had done with many others.

'You qualified as a physician four years ago, with distinction, supported in your studies by your grandfather despite the disapproval of your grandmother. You are unmarried, despite the ring on the correct finger, which in fact belonged to your mother. She died when you were very young, your father shortly after, and you suspect his death was due to a broken heart. You wear the ring because it reminds you of them, but it also makes your professional life easier because your colleagues feel less threatened by a married woman. They have never attempted to find out whether you are actually somebody's wife, but you have never fixed this impression because they are more inclined to leave you alone. Am I correct so far?'

Molly nodded; still processing what Mr Holmes had told her in so hurried a fashion. He smiled, clearly pleased with himself, and resumed speaking, even though Molly couldn't imagine what else he could find to say.

'You are wearing your favourite dress, because you are likely to be scrutinised upon your arrival at your…' he paused, searching her for the end of his sentence, 'grandparents' house? Yes, your grandparents' house. You are attending a celebration of some kind there, but you do not get on with the person that it is being held for, which explains your reluctance to attend.'

'Wha… How… Tha…' He looked very smug, but Molly was too shocked to dislike him for it. 'How did you know all of that?'

'Deductions.'

'Excuse me?'

'I am very good at reading people, Miss Hooper. For example, I knew you were a physician because of the slight marking of a stethoscope on your neck, and I know that that is your mother's ring because it is slightly too big for you, as if it were made originally for someone else's finger. I also worked out that both of your parents have passed because of the locket around your neck with their pictures in, which you reach for unconsciously to suggest that you have worn it for so long that you forget it is there,' he said. Molly was awestruck, staring at the man before her with unabashed admiration. She realised that her fingers had closed around her locket, a gift from her grandfather the year after her father died, which she hadn't taken off since the age of eleven.

'And my dress?'

'Well, you've subtly darned a hole on the shoulder, and such care suggests either frugality or an attachment to the garment. While you are careful with your possessions, I am inclined towards the latter, because you keep brushing off the skirt as if you are afraid of it getting dirty. This raises the question of why you would wear something that you like so much for travelling; from which I naturally conclude that you are conscious that you will have to withstand another's inspection. For most women, they would be most conscious of the views of an authority figure, a relative most probably, and through process of elimination I would suggest you are concerned about the views of one, possibly both of your grandparents.'

'My grandmother,' Molly supplied, prompting him to go on.

'Once I had concluded that, it was reasonable to assume that you were going to your grandparents' house, but your decision to take the latest train possible indicates you are not looking forward to the trip. You are clearly there for a substantial amount of time if the size of your suitcase is anything to go by, and you have clearly been forced to stay for so long. This is due to an event outside of your control, so you have had no choice, but you did decide to put the gift you brought in your suitcase rather than ensuring its safety by keeping it separate. Therefore, I assume you are not close with the person that it is for.' Molly was gobsmacked, her eyes becoming wider with each correct deduction that the man made. He smiled at her reaction, and she laughed after a moment, observing that it wasn't fair that such a gorgeous man could be blessed with such a brain.

'May I ask what it is that you do, Mr Holmes; since you know so much about me?'

'I'm a detective,' he replied, and she supposed that made sense. 'I investigate cases that are brought to me by individuals, but I am also contracted occasionally by the police if they require assistance with their cases.' Comprehension dawned on Molly, and she flicked her gaze from him to the paper.

'You're the third party!' She said excitedly.

'I'm sorry?' Molly picked up the paper and waved it in front of him.

'You're the third party who helped the police with the murder of that woman last week. The article mentions you, not by name of course, but they say that you solved it. I've been wondering who you are for months now.' She realised she was getting carried away, but her excitement prevented her from being embarrassed. Mr Holmes studied her with an unidentifiable expression, and she blushed as the intensity of his gaze increased exponentially.

'I'm flattered, Miss Hooper,' he said eventually. 'I hope I have not disappointed you.' She looked down at her clasped hands, her face warm from the burning of his eyes.

'I am not sure what my expectations were, Mr Holmes,' she kept her eyes averted, as she knew that she would be unable to say this to him if she looked up, 'but I am quite certain that you exceed them.'

**xxxxxx**

The train rolled into Derby station at quarter to seven, much to Molly's displeasure. Although she had never wanted to be here in the first place, the fact that she had to part from Mr Holmes was an added detriment to her arrival in the country.

Over the journey, she had got to know the initially aloof detective who shared her compartment, and found herself rather besotted by him. He impressed her repeatedly with his genius intellect, and her interest in crime and the human body meant that she was fascinated by the stories that he told of cases he had worked on.

Now, as he lifted her case off the luggage rack and helped her onto the platform, she felt some sadness at the fact that she would probably never see him again.

She turned to face him when they had both departed the train, and he handed her the handle of her bag, which she took gratefully.

'Well, Mr Holmes,' she said, pulling down her jacket with characteristic shyness. 'It was lovely to meet you,' she said honestly, trying to remain cheerful despite the dull ache in her chest.

'The pleasure was all mine, Dr Hooper,' she laughed: his acceptance of her medical career was yet another reason why she liked him. 'I hope that your trip will not be as unbearable as you are anticipating,' she smiled, and he readily returned it.

'Thank you, Mr Holmes. So do I.' He nodded, and they both spent a moment looking everywhere but at each other. 'Goodbye,' she said, her voice much smaller than before.

She was about to walk away when his hand found its way to hers; raising it to his mouth as he bent down to kiss it. His lips pressed against her skin, and she was infinitely glad that her gloves were clasped in the hand carrying her suitcase.

'Goodbye, Miss Hooper,' he murmured, their eyes locked on each other before he straightened and walked away, turning once to look back at her. Then he passed under the arch that led out of the station and disappeared.

Molly stood in the middle of the platform for a minute more, her hand still burning from his touch, refusing to allow herself to cry.

She walked towards the same exit that had swallowed him only moments before, and prepared herself for boarding the cart that would take her to her grandparents, and her probable doom.

**xxxxxx**

The horseman helped her out of the cart, the gravel in the driveway of her grandparents' estate crunching under her boots. She stared up at the manor that held such bittersweet memories before she strode to the large oak door, pressing the bell and feeling her confidence ebb away with every second.

A servant ushered her in, taking her jacket and the suitcase that the horseman carried in for her. Then she made her own way to the ballroom, following the noise that suggested that her grandparents had collected a number of friends to celebrate the impending nuptials.

'Molly, dear,' her grandfather was the first person she saw, and she rushed over eagerly to greet him, kissing him on each cheek and gripping his hands. She missed him greatly living in London, and it was lovely to see him so well considering the stress that her cousin and her grandmother must put him under.

'Good evening, Molly,' her grandmother was next, embracing her coldly and scanning her appraisingly, exactly as Mr Holmes had guessed she would have.

Molly said hello to some of her grandfather's friends once her grandmother had released her, answering politely that she was still working when they questioned her with poorly concealed disbelief.

'Molly, are you going to ignore the bride?' Jasmine called to her from where she was perched on the sofa, various guests fawning over her, and Molly winced internally at the shrillness of her cousin's voice.

'Of course not, Jasmine, how rude of me. How are you?'

'I am frightfully nervous, darling, but I am sure that once my fiancé arrives, I will be quite well.'

'Isn't he here already?' Molly was surprised by the groom's absence, as she had delayed her own visit as much as possible until only a week before the wedding. Her grandmother had not been particularly pleased, but Molly was not prepared to spend any more time here than she had to.

'He is a very busy man, my dear cousin, as you will see. It really is a wonder how he has managed to do without me,' Jasmine replied modestly, and Molly smiled weakly before seeking solace in her other cousin Mary.

'Molly, thank God you're here,' Mary said to her in an undertone, as she pulled Molly to sit beside her on a chaise.

'Has she been unbearable?' Molly's voice was full of sympathy, perfectly aware of quite how dreadful Jasmine could be.

'If you hadn't been coming, I don't think there would have been a wedding- I was this close to strangling her with a pair of stockings,' Molly laughed, squeezing Mary's hand comfortingly.

'We'll manage together, don't worry.' They paused for a moment, listening to the buzz of the people around them, and the voice of Jasmine somehow drowning them all out.

From the beginning, Jasmine had been the sole option out of all of Lord Geoffrey Hooper's grandchildren for the match. He had automatically excluded Molly, his favourite, to allow her the freedom that she enjoyed in the city, and Mary had removed herself due to the fact that it interfered with her wishes to marry for love. Jasmine, however, had suggested herself readily, apparently familiar with the man that she was to marry from the balls she attended, and content that he would match her unerringly high standards.

'So when is he expected?' Molly asked Mary, her curiosity getting the better of her.

'The groom?' Molly nodded. 'Tonight. He seemed to have the same idea as you, putting off getting here so that the others have to deal with Jasmine.'

'I'm sorry for that, by the way,' Molly whispered, blushing guiltily.

'Don't worry; you're here now. How was the journey?' Molly flushed again, for wholly different reasons, debating whether she should tell Mary about Mr Holmes. Luckily, her cousin's perceptiveness meant she had little choice. 'I know that face, Molly, what happened?'

'I met a man on the train,' Molly confessed. 'We were in the same compartment. He was… lovely,' Molly finished breathlessly, and Mary laughed as her cousin seemed to enter into a kind of trance.

'You can tell me all about it later.' Mary said, ending her sentence just as the butler entered to inform them that Jasmine's fiancé had finally arrived.

Mary and Molly stood with the rest of their family, sharing a small smile at the prospect of meeting the unfortunate man who would be joined to Jasmine for all eternity.

The butler announced the names of the people whom Molly assumed were the groom's parents.

Molly was sure that she had never seen two more gracefully wealthy people in her life as they walked in, and they greeted her grandparents in so friendly a manner that Molly almost felt sorry that their son was marrying her cousin.

Then the butler stepped forward again to introduce the groom, and Molly's attention was diverted completely from his parents.

'Lord William Sherlock Holmes.'

Molly's eyes widened, positive she'd heard wrong. It was a coincidence; it had to be a coincidence, she repeated to herself as she tightened her grip on Mary's hand.

But Molly's blood ran cold when her Mr Holmes entered the room, and she realised that he was Jasmine's Lord Holmes instead.

The black curls had been neatened since the train, and his attire had been changed into something more suitable for the evening. But those eyes that had so captivated her were identical to the ones of the stranger before her now, as they swept the room and eventually landed on her.

She saw the exact moment of recognition, the shock on his face as he realised that his deceit (as far as she was concerned) had been discovered. Molly felt instantly sick, unbeknownst to the room full of people who would never understand the gravity of that moment for two of the crowd.

'Excuse me,' she whispered, her eyes downcast as she ran away from the confusion of those assembled.

Putting distance between herself and the one man who didn't need to be confused at all.

**A/N: I told myself I wouldn't write anything else until after my exams, but this came to me and I had to get it down. It's a bit different to everything I've written so far, but I hope you like it enough to stick around. As I mentioned, my exams are over soon, so I'll have a lot more time to devote to finishing this. Also, if you have any prompts, I'm AquaFontem on Tumblr too, so let me know if there's anything in particular you want to read and I might pick it up! Thank you so much for reading, and I hope that you'll forgive me for such a long first chapter! :)**


	2. Chapter Two

Molly put off coming down to breakfast the next morning, lying in bed for as long as possible before she began to run the risk of a servant coming to wake her, even though they would have found that unnecessary.

Molly had barely slept at all, and what little sleep she managed to get had been plagued by nightmares: of brides and grooms getting married, pounding on the doors of locked churches, and whole ballrooms laughing and pointing as she ran away.

Or worse, she dreamed instead, her mind straying to dangerous places, where a man ghosted his hands down her body reverently, pressing his beautiful lips along the column of her neck.

Eventually, she'd given up trying to rest at all, watching the sun set and rise again passionlessly, as she realised too late that she had failed to close the curtains.

Molly dragged herself out of bed, dressing slowly as the sounds of the rest of the house breakfasting wafted up the stairs. She hadn't seen a single soul since she ran out of the ballroom the night before, but she supposed that facing them all together wouldn't be as bad as being cornered by Mary alone, who would undoubtedly ask the more direct questions that Molly knew she would be unable to answer.

She still couldn't believe the audacity of the man, this Lord Holmes, who had acted on the train as so much the opposite of an engaged man that she had half a mind to inform her grandfather of his behaviour.

Then she remembered the softness that he'd exhibited when they'd parted, which she still believed to be genuine in spite of herself, and she was plunged into such consuming confusion that she was forced to revert back to anger to alleviate the aching in her temple.

Molly descended the stairs quietly, comforted in part by being back in the house where she'd spent most of her adolescence, and where her mother before her had also grown up, in the very room that Molly now used. She always felt closer to her mother when she was here, and the weight of the locket around her neck that held her parent's pictures always lightened considerably, as if she didn't need to carry around the link to the wholly happy part of her childhood in this big house, infused with her mother's memory in a way that the vast city where she lived now was not.

She pushed open the door to the dining room, meeting her grandparents' butler Frederick on the way in to the room. He nodded to her in greeting, and she smiled warmly back: he had been a regular fixture in the house since her infancy, and a calming influence now that her stomach was in knots.

'Molly, dear, I was just about to send someone to wake you,' her grandfather stood when she entered, walking over to kiss her cheek in greeting. She beamed up at him, and allowed herself to be led over to the dining table, adorned with every breakfast food that Molly had ever seen.

It appeared that the morning train had bought two new additions to the wedding party, as two men were at the table whom she had never seen before. They both stood upon her entrance, and her grandfather took her to them to make the introductions.

'Gentlemen, this is my youngest granddaughter, Dr Margaret Hooper-'

'Grandfather,' Molly warned amiably, well used to Lord Geoffrey's tendency to emphasise the nature of her profession.

'I apologise, my dear, but that is your proper title, after all,' he said teasingly. 'Gentlemen, this is my granddaughter, _Miss_ Margaret, although she prefers Molly,' she nodded her assent, thoroughly detesting her proper name. 'Molly, this is Lord Mycroft Holmes, our groom's brother,' he gestured to the older man, who bowed politely while she curtsied. 'And this is Dr John Watson, the… best man, I believe?' Dr Watson nodded, and greeted her as Lord Holmes had, although his face was adorned with a warmer smile than the other man.

Once she had been properly introduced, she took the chair beside her grandfather, squeezing his hand briefly. She knew that he appreciated her being there, and she was glad that her presence comforted him even if she would have preferred to be absent.

However, it was harder to have this view when Jasmine began an unnecessarily detailed description of her bouquet, and as Molly looked around the table, she found that everyone was similarly indifferent.

Everyone thankfully did not include the younger Lord Holmes, who was not present, and his parents were missing also. She supposed that her grandfather had sent breakfast up to them, so as not to burden the elderly couple with rising early to join them.

She prayed that he had bestowed the same courtesy upon the groom.

Meanwhile, her grandmother was probably still in her room, as she often complained of headaches that seemed to coincide suspiciously with Molly's visits.

At least Mary was at the furthest end of the table, but Molly noted that she was quite distracted by Dr Watson, who was sat beside her. He had seemed a very pleasant man, and Molly vowed that she would do her best to further the man's acquaintance with her cousin should the opportunity present itself.

Adjacent to Dr Watson was the other Lord Holmes, and Molly observed him for a few moments until she was confident that her earlier impression of him had been correct. He exuded certain superiority, as much in his manner as in the way he was dressed: in formal day clothes that she had only ever seen on governmental ministers. He looked so uncomfortable in this relaxed setting that she couldn't help but pity him, so she resolved to engage him in conversation when Jasmine's monologue lulled.

'How was your journey, Lord Holmes?' She inquired politely, catching sight of her grandfather's relieved expression as she moved the discussion away from the grasp of her eldest cousin.

'Quite well, Miss Hooper, thank you. I rarely have occasion to leave London. It is more pleasant in the countryside than I expected,' she noticed that there was a consistent double meaning to his words, as if he wanted to remind her of his own position of authority over her by reminding her of her own humble origins in this small rural community.

'I quite agree. I myself live in the city, and I am constantly surprised by how much I benefit from some fresh air and a little bit of space,' she replied calmly, taking a delicate sip of tea.

'This is why, my dear, I continue to encourage you to move back to the country,' Lord Geoffrey said amiably, covering her hand with his.

'You are quite impossible,' she replied, laughing at his perseverance, as he had done nothing short of begging her to return to Derby ever since she'd left for London several years ago.

'We do not see enough of you, Molly. Isn't that right, Mary?' Molly looked to her cousin, who extracted herself from, Dr Watson long enough to nod enthusiastically. Molly smiled at their attempts to gang up on her, which happened every time she visited.

'I'm sorry, Grandfather, but I could never desert my patients. No matter how much I love it here,' Lord Geoffrey held up his hands in surrender, deferring to the blank Lord Holmes beside him, who responded with a thin smile that resembled more of a grimace.

Molly was amused by this gentleman, rather than offended, as he was so acutely out of his comfort zone that he looked legitimately frightened. She exchanged glances with Lord Geoffrey, who seemed to share her view, before she returned quietly to the porridge in front of her.

'Miss Hooper,' she looked at him, surprised that he wanted to speak to her, although she tried her best to conceal that. 'What area of medicine are you involved in?'

'I'm a physician,' she answered, content that Lord Holmes wasn't looking to mock her as so many had before. 'My patients are mainly women, usually pregnant, because that is technically the period where women receive the most medical care. I wish this were not the case, but I often find there is little I can do.' It was true that this was becoming more of an issue, as most of the women she saw had underlying health concerns that affected their pregnancies, which could have been remedied much earlier if Molly had seen them before they were with child.

'That is very interesting, Miss Hooper. Why do you think women are so reluctant to seek treatment?' She blinked, unused to someone expressing such interest in her career.

'To be frank, many simply cannot afford it, and would prefer to use home remedies rather than seeing a physician. One of my patients had never been to see a qualified medical professional in her life until she suffered complications in her pregnancy, and she could never have afforded the treatment she needed.' Molly rarely found herself able to speak so freely, but this particular issue was one so important to her that she seemed to forget herself. Lord Holmes studied her for a moment before he replied.

'Do you mean to say that you treated her for free?' She blushed, realising what she'd accidentally revealed. Still, she nodded, and was gratified that Lord Holmes didn't accuse her of wasting medical resources on the undeserving, as her colleagues would if they found out.

They were interrupted when her grandfather stood, directing their attention to the door, as Molly realised that someone had entered. She felt her cheeks grow warm when she saw that the groom was standing in the corner, wondering vaguely how long he'd been there, and whether he'd heard her conversation with his brother.

The younger Lord Holmes walked briskly to the table, shaking Lord Geoffrey's hand and greeting his brother and best friend. Then her grandfather showed him to the only free seat in the room, and she recognised with horror that it was directly beside her.

Molly's skin burned as he placed himself in his seat, and she flinched when his arm brushed against hers. He looked even more handsome than he had the day before, and she mentally accused him of doing that on purpose to make their meeting even more excruciating for her.

'Molly,' she tried to bury herself in her breakfast, but now that she had been specifically addressed she had no choice but to turn to her grandfather, who moved away from the man who had taken his (infuriatingly close-by) seat. 'I don't believe you and Lord Holmes have been introduced.' Lord Geoffrey had no idea how much Molly wished he was right.

'No, Grandfather, we haven't,' she said quickly, before Lord Holmes could contradict the older man.

'That reminds me, my dear, you left very abruptly last night-'

'I had a headache,' she lied, aware that the whole room's eyes were on her.

'Well, are you all right now?' Lord Geoffrey asked, concerned. She nodded, and his creased brow smoothed out once he was satisfied. 'Excellent. Anyway, I must introduce you now. You are soon to be related, after all,' Lord Holmes and Molly stiffened in unison, although her grandfather thankfully didn't notice. 'Lord Holmes, this is Dr- I am only joking, my dear,' Lord Geoffrey laughed at his granddaughter's expression, and she smiled uneasily, as Sherlock looked impassively at his lap. 'Miss Molly Hooper, Jasmine's youngest cousin.' Sherlock nodded politely, but she turned abruptly away as soon as she had acknowledged him.

'I think I may go for a walk,' she announced as cheerfully as possible, standing slowly with a forced smile on her face.

'But you've hardly touched your breakfast,' Lord Geoffrey was clearly dismayed at the prospect of listening to Jasmine alone, but Molly couldn't bear to sit beside Lord Holmes any longer. She began to back away from the table, towards the door behind her that led into the large garden surrounding the house.

'I'm not hungry,' she said, feeling like she did when she was a child, and she used to try to escape the dinner table with the same excuse if she was served something with too many vegetables. 'Anyway, I would quite enjoy stretching my legs after being cooped up in London,' she reached her hand out for the handle, her way out tantalisingly close.

'Would you like some company, dear?' She realised with mortification that Lord Geoffrey was angling for one of the two bachelors at the table to go with her, and she quickly protested, wishing that he would just let her go.

'No! No. I would prefer to be alone,' she finished quietly, finally opening the door when her grandfather nodded and sat back down, indicating that she was excused.

Those left suffered the cold breeze that her departure brought into the room, as the door shut firmly behind her.

Sherlock felt the cold more acutely than any of them, an uncomfortable prickling sensation on the back of his neck attuning him to the fact that his brother was scrutinising him intently.

'Miss Hooper is quite delightful, Geoffrey,' Mycroft offered after a while, although his formal tone didn't fully equate with what he had said. 'You must be very proud of her.' Sherlock narrowed his eyes at his brother, confident that Mycroft had never described anyone as 'delightful' before, let alone a person of the opposite sex.

'Thank you; I am,' Lord Geoffrey replied humbly, genuinely pleased by Mycroft's praise.

Sherlock could not claim that he felt the same.

'You should be careful, Lord Geoffrey,' Sherlock said slowly, so that only his brother noticed that he was speaking through gritted teeth, 'you may have another wedding to organise before long.' He smiled coldly at Mycroft, hoping he was making his feelings very clear, but his anger intensified when his brother merely looked vindicated by his reaction.

'You are humorous, brother, but not all men are as inclined towards domesticity as you appear to be,' Mycroft smiled unnaturally as he gestured to Jasmine, and Sherlock scowled while his fiancé simpered unattractively. Lord Geoffrey chuckled, and Sherlock flicked his gaze back to their host in mild surprise, as he had forgotten that the man was there.

'I'm afraid you wouldn't have much chance with my Molly anyway.' Sherlock may have overlooked Lord Geoffrey only a moment before, but now the man had his undivided attention.

'Is that so?' Mycroft asked uninterestedly, while the older man nodded remorsefully.

'Yes, she's always been very career driven. I suppose it's my fault for encouraging her to get an education, but a part of me does wish that she would settle down. She was always very independent, even as a child, so she'll have to make that decision once she's ready.' They remained silent, and after a while Lord Geoffrey finished his thought. 'I do think it would take a very special man to change her mind, Lord Holmes, so if you think you're up to the challenge then be my guest.'

For a moment, Sherlock wasn't sure which Lord Holmes he was talking to.

**xxxxxx**

'And then Miss Mary said that she was glad that I was the best man, because she had been worried about who she would have to dance with at the reception, but now she'd met me she was quite looking forward to it!' Sherlock rolled his eyes as he turned away from John's gleeful expression, pacing in front of the large window in his room as he only half-listened to what his friend was saying.

John had launched into a laborious dissection of his conversation with Jasmine's younger sister as soon as they'd left the dining room, and he had yet to cease despite the fact that they'd been alone for over half an hour.

Sherlock had been initially grateful that his friend was taking over most of the conversation, as it allowed him to mull over exactly how he was going to get himself out of this situation: out of marrying a woman that he legitimately couldn't even stand to sit beside.

Now he was desperate for John to be quiet, because his head was starting to hurt as it launched an internal attack on the part of him that couldn't quite remove the distraction of Miss Molly Hooper.

'John,' he said tersely, when his friend began to explain for the fourth time how Mary had asked him to pass her the sugar, and their fingers had brushed in the exchange.

'Right, yes, sorry,' John withdrew bashfully, and Sherlock fell onto the four-poster bed, idly wondering how many days it had been since he slept. 'I must say though Holmes, your marriage already looks very successful from where I'm sitting.' Sherlock sat up to glare at him, but John was still grinning to himself, and failed to notice. 'I've only been here for breakfast and I'm already enjoying myself.'

'Excellent,' Sherlock replied unenthusiastically, concluding that John was of no use to him in this indoctrinated state. He never could understand his friend's behaviour when it came to women, as he always seemed to lose what little rationality he possessed wherever they were involved.

'Lord Geoffrey is a very agreeable man, Sherlock,' John continued, 'and his youngest granddaughter seemed very pleasant from what little I saw of her,' Sherlock immediately tensed at the mention of Molly, his eyes boring holes into the scarlet canopy above him. 'She did seem rather skittish, though, left quite abruptly,' John paused, thinking, 'did the same last night too apparently, Mary mentioned that she retired just after you arrived?' Sherlock was silent, not trusting himself to reply. 'It's almost like you have a repellent effect on her,' John said blithely, chuckling at the notion.

'You have no idea,' Sherlock muttered darkly, but John seemed not to have heard him.

'Anyway, she was quite spirited before you came in. Lectured Mycroft about women receiving insufficient medical care. I think he was rather taken aback by it all,' Sherlock sat up, looking quite mad with his mussed hair and wide eyes.

'She did?'

'Oh yes. I quite agreed with her, myself. I have virtually no female patients at all, pregnant or no-' John went on, but Sherlock had stopped listening, wearing out the carpet with his neurotic movements. His brain buzzed unpleasantly, and he made the decision to come clean, trusting that John would know what to do.

'John.' Sherlock placed himself in the second armchair in the room, unaware that he had just interrupted.

'You're not listening to a word I'm saying, are you?' John asked peevishly.

'What?'

'You haven't been listening.'

'Oh. No, I haven't,' John huffed, but Sherlock went on. 'I met her before,' he said wildly, frustrated when John looked at him confusion.

'Who? Mary?' John visibly perked up, and Sherlock wanted to hit him.

'No! Molly!'

'Molly? Molly Hooper? As in Dr Molly Hooper, your fiancé's cousin?'

'Yes!'

'How?'

'The train. We met on the train on the way up, and I was awful at first,' John pulled a face to show that this did not at all surprise him, 'but we became acquainted, and she's interested in my work, and intelligent, and engaging, and-' Sherlock threw up his hands, clearly at a loss. John raised his eyebrows, never having seen his friend in such a state.

'Have you fallen for her?' He asked bluntly, shocked when Sherlock hesitated. 'Because you do know that you're engaged to her cousin? To be married? That you're going to marry her cousin in less than a week's time?'

'Yes, John, I'm well aware!' Sherlock hissed, wishing he'd never mentioned it.

'So what's this really about?'

'I have never felt this way before, John,' Sherlock said in frustration, 'I don't know what's happened to me. My brain… it feels like there's a current running through it, and it won't slow down, it will not stop… moving,' Sherlock fisted his hands in his hair, and John watched him quietly, before comprehension dawned on his face.

'I know what this is about,' John said assuredly, and Sherlock felt his hopes increase a small amount. 'You're having second thoughts about arranged marriage.' Sherlock buried his head in his hands, but John continued, undeterred. 'You barely know Jasmine, so you've convinced yourself that Miss Molly would be a better match for you because of one conversation you've had with her,' John leaned forward eagerly. 'Holmes, you really should not worry. All you need to do spend more time with Jasmine, and I am sure you will forget totally about whatever feelings you thought you had for her cousin.'

'You don't understand,' Sherlock said desperately, as John looked on him with sympathy.

Sherlock doubted that John would have offered the same advice if he knew about the way Sherlock's heart had lurched when he saw her for the first time, or how his chest became constricted when he thought of the way she'd looked at him when he'd walked into the ballroom the night before. Even his reaction to Mycroft's casual compliment of Molly was wholly out of character, and he could still feel the slow burn on the back of his neck when he considered the idea of his brother finding her appealing.

'Trust me, Sherlock, you are nervous. It will pass,' Sherlock didn't respond, sitting back in the armchair as his exhaustion began to catch up to him. 'God, man, how long has it been since you slept?' Sherlock shrugged tiredly, undoing his top button with shaking hands.

'Days?' He breathed out, his eyes already closing, as he heard John stand and open the door.

'Well get some rest,' John said, and Sherlock nodded sleepily, 'I shall send someone to rouse you for dinner,' he sounded far too cheerful, but Sherlock supposed he had plans to _accidentally_ run into Mary, which would explain it. John didn't wait for a reply, and he left just as Sherlock dragged himself over to the bed.

He collapsed onto it, not even bothering to undress, his mind offering up images as sleep washed over his body.

He dreamed that he was back at Baker Street, walking past a kitchen table with experiments sprawled over the surface. He pushed open the door, the twilight shining in through the window, basking his bedroom in an orange glow that curled around the figure in his bed.

He came closer, pulling aside the covers as he slipped onto the mattress, lifting his hand to push a strand of his bedfellow's chestnut hair from her face. He grazed his fingers down her bare arm, tracing the soft curve of her hip before the sheets halted his languid exploration.

She exhaled at his touch, shifting her head closer to his on the pillow, until there was barely an inch of space separating them.

So Sherlock closed the distance, pressing his lips to Molly Hooper's, her eyes flickering open just as his snapped shut.

**A/N: I'm sorry that there wasn't more interaction between Sherlock and Molly in this chapter, but I wanted to introduce Sherlock's internal monologue, and bring in John and Mycroft (whom I love). I hope you didn't mind. :)**

**I also wanted to say thank you for being so lovely about the first chapter: I squealed audibly and embarrassingly every time I got a review, and I'm so grateful for all of the follows and favourites! **

**Hopefully the next chapter will be up soon (it's an exciting one: I can't wait for you to read it), but until then, thank you so much for reading! :-)**


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